


Untold

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angsty-ish, F/M, Jealous Thorin, flirty dain, random reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:17:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The reader notices the king is acting oddly. Is he mad at her or someone else?





	Untold

You were still growing used to the idea. Thorin as king. Since Ered Luin he had claimed the title but he had never appeared as such; no crown, no ermine-trimmed cape, no trumpets or elaborate ceremony. He had only ever been the smith at the next anvil. The prince befallen by the dragon’s curse. You could barely recall those early days in Erebor when he had stood alongside Thrain and gloated over their swathes of gold coin. You were younger than him, so much that the memories were tinged with the blur of childhood. Far away, almost dreamlike.

You had read many a novel of royalty; romance, tragedy, and comedy alike. None of them had ever depicted a king such as yours. None covered in sweat and cinder, none labouring endlessly at your elbow. Yet, he brooded as any with immense burden upon his shoulders; he treated his people as if he served them and not the other way around. He could be aloof, often he was, but he cared deeply for his displaced dwarves with only one end in sight. And here it was.

It was days like these which saw you missing the forge. The booming laughter of Thorin and Dwalin amid the hammering of iron on silver. You keeping your chuckles beneath your breath, their japes entertaining but distracting. You had always been the matron between the two bullish dwarves even as they counted several more years than yourself. Thorin had since lost that carelessness; the journey had seen him sober and stern. Those little moments of gaiety disappearing entirely. And now that your home was reclaimed and he stood as king of Erebor, you barely heard his joy, let alone saw him at all. Despite the riches sparkling around you, life had lost a certain lustre.

The mountain was a flurry of chaos. It would be the first official visit of a foreign monarch. Dain was Thorin’s cousin but it did not exempt him from a king’s welcome. A whole fortnight had seen all preparing for his arrival. Shining statues, extended hunts for the finest venison, scrubbing the stone walkways, and sewing fine attire. All had been working to excess and all were exhausted. Your own wits were worn with your duties to the council and the king himself. You had overseen most of the labour which marked the special occasion.

You could hear voices rising from outside. Hours ago, a horn had announced the sighting of the party from the Iron Hills just upon the crest of the fields. They had ascended the steep pass to Durin’s door and their own trumpets confirmed their presence. Attendants were sent to greet them and guide them within. The mountain was a labyrinth of grey corridors and towering bridgeways. Any dwarf, even a resident, could find themselves lost within.

You were going to be late. You grabbed the cape Balin had left slung over your council chair, the white fur around the collar marking your status. A gift from Thorin he claimed though the king had had little time from you. The old advisor was always cleaning up after him; fibbing on his behalf. You knew he had not the care to think much of you. Even so, you would accept it even upon a pretence. Though you despised pageantry, to appear a beggar before Dain’s court would be an affront to all. You buttoned the collar of the dusty rose velvet, the colour offensive to your tastes. The gown beneath was even more a sin. A richer shade of pink satin embroidered along skirts and cuff with silver flowers. You must have looked ridiculous to any who knew you. Perhaps Thorin had truly commissioned the attire as a joke. A shadow of his former humour.

Your heeled slippers clicked as you rushed through the stone doorway and scurried unevenly down the corridor. The steps almost saw you tumbling and you clung to the wall as you reached the bottom. As you neared the throne room, the rear door hidden behind the venerated chair itself, you nearly collided with Balin. He caught your elbow before you could overturn him.

“My dear, I was just coming to fetch you,” A dark figure appeared behind him and you heard a barreling laughter erupt. Dwalin’s thick features were limned in lantern light as he neared, tilting his head as he took in your attire.

“Well, aren’t you a delicate flower,” He remarked slyly.

“Says the dancing bear. How long did it take you to house train the oaf?” You asked Balin.

“Oi,” Dwalin’s laughter died and Balin glared between both of you.

“Enough, I needn’t the two of you moaning through this whole ordeal. Now, we must take our places before Dain should stumble upon the king without his court.” He ushered you past him and towards the door. “Try to smile, the pair of you. Let’s not make the mountain seem a dungeon.”

“Yes, my lord,” You replied sarcastically and followed Dwalin through to the throne room.

The younger Frerin resumed his place beside the throne and you were shown to your own, just at the corner of the stairs which led up to the king’s perch. Balin left you and stood at the shoulder of his brother as the king’s sister and nephews stood at his other flank. The rest of Oakenshield’s Company lined the aisle, the common folk a foot behind them in an orderly horde.

As you wondered at your own place of distinction alongside Durin and Frerin alike, your eyes met Thorin’s, your head craned awkwardly as you looked to the throne. His blue eyes sparked, whether in silent recognition or remonstrance you did not know. It only made you right yourself and look ahead as trumpeters entered announcing Dain’s entrance.

Thorin must have been displeased with your tardiness. That must have been why his sapphire eyes looked so fiery. These days, you could do nothing to appease the king. It seemed every move you made was the wrong one. Yet, had you not dressed in a gaudy costume and braided your hair into a fanciful chignon. It had all been quite frustrating and all on his behalf. He could find joy in nothing as of late. You folded your hands and calmed your nerves, distracting yourself with the buoyant appearance of the King of the Iron Hills.

Dain’s greying red hair was as messy as ever, so thick and curly that it fought to escape the beads holding together his braids. His crooked nose and glittering Durin blue eyes were accompanied by a thunderous laugh. As he neared his cousin he held out his arms as Thorin rose to descend and embrace him. Despite the formality of the occasion, neither king could forget their innate kinship.

“Cousin,” Dain clapped Thorin’s back as they parted, “A fine court you’ve established since our last meeting.” He stepped back and looked over his dark-haired cousin, “And you look well. Less bloodied than the last though I say a Durin should always have some blood upon his person.”

“Is it blood or shit, cousin?” Thorin japed. The long lost affability had returned to his tone, piquing your attention and tweaking your brow. “A fine excuse for the state of you.”

“Aye, the road was long,” Dain replied, “You’re lucky I like you or this visit would have turned to an invasion. These old bones are growing weary of travel.” He barked in laughter and glanced around. He stepped up to Dis and bowed elaborately, “My beautiful cousin,” He took her hand and she scoffed, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “And your sons,” Dain released her and moved on, “I am glad to see them well.”

He patted Kili and Fili’s shoulders before crossing to the other side of the throne. There he greeted the Frerin with aged fraternity; old comrades and lifelong friends. “You two goats are still at it, eh?”

“Both of us in better shape than you, old man,” Dwalin retorted, “Your hideousness is always impressive.”

“Dain,” Balin bowed, exhibiting the grace his brother lacked.

“And this is?” Dain turned to you. You were stunned as your observation was interrupted and you were suddenly an actor in the scene. “A delicate little rose in a garden of thorns.” He neared and held out his hand, “A lady almost too lovely to be dwarrow.”

“King Dain,” You greeted with humility, smirking as you waited for him to recognize you.

“Mahal, Y/N?” He exclaimed, “Why the last time I saw you, you had more of Thorin’s blood on ya than he did.” He chortled and took your hand, raising it to his lips, “What have they done to you?” He marvelled, “A pleasant little dam, you are. Under all that grime, you really are marvelous.”

You heard a low growl, a noise common to any dwarf. A marker of their chagrin. You had heard it time and again from several of your company but you could not place its owner in the moment. You glanced around but all seemed as they were. Thorin watched his cousin with his kingly stoicism, Dwalin and Balin stood patiently aside, and Dis looked lovingly to her sons.

“Do I detect a blush, my lady?” You felt your cheeks colour as he clung to your hand, “Why, I’m sure all these lumps are much too oblivious to decry such beauty. To think, such an immaculate being was hiding beneath ragged furs and stained hides. Aye, if I were a younger dwarrow I would take you back to the Hills and make you my third wife.”

“Ha,” You chuckled and untangled your hand from his, “Enough,” The growl had stopped but the tension remained. “You flatter me. It is nice to see you too, my king.”

“Aye, you’ve made this arduous trek worth it,” He bowed his head and turned back to Thorin at last. You exhaled as you were free of his attention. You had known this get-up was absurd. “Cousin, tell me you have food ready. I have a train of dwarves starved from the road. If I shouldn’t feed them, they will declare sedition.”

“Of course, cousin,” Thorin cleared his throat as if finding his voice, “The feast hall has been prepared. Your people shall not go hungry.” You frowned as the king’s voice had return to its former sharpness. Derision underlined his tone. “Let us eat.”

Thorin guided Dain away from the throne, shoulders set as they were when he was irate. You glanced at Balin who squinted at his king’s back. You were not the only to notice the sudden change. You slowly descended and followed Dis and her sons as they trailed the two kings. This farce was far from over, but at least you could hide behind your stein.

* * *

It was far too hot in the feast hall. You removed your cape quickly and hung it over the back of your chair. The pink satin made you cringe but you forgot it for the beer and lamb set before you. The kings kept to a sonorous conversation just a few seats away and the hall was filled with laughter and endless japes. You gulped from your stein and set it down heavily.

“You can put the dam in a dress, but you can’t make her a lady,” Dwalin quipped from your shoulder.

“And you can put a coat on an ox, but you can’t give him a brain,” You returned, “We’re both in misery here, so let’s not make it worse.”

You shook your head and reached again for your drink. You paused, the rim only inches from your lips as you sensed a warmth. You turned to its source, Dain winked as he caught your eye and you chuckled. Thorin ceased talking and looked over his shoulder, his forehead creasing in irritation. _What had you done now?_ The king turned back and slammed his hand on the table top, standing as he excused himself. His cousin was unfazed by his sudden ire and reached for his own stein, taking up another conversation with Dis at his other shoulder.

“Excuse me,” You said as you pushed yourself to your feet and set down your ale, “This beer has gone right through me.”

You brushed behind the chairs of the royal party, Balin sending you a gentle smile over his shoulder. Your ankle threatened to bend as you stepped wrong on your heel but you kept yourself aloft and continued to the door. You paused just before passing through to the corridor. You were bracing yourself for Thorin’s anger. You weren’t sure what crime you had committed, but you were certain you were once more the cause of his displeasure.

The hall was empty. The king must have made a hasty retreat. _Did he not intend on returning to his own feast?_ You looked both ways, wondering if he had ventured to his solar or his own rooms. You guessed the latter and set off to the west. Around the corner, you heard a shatter and turned to find vase in pieces before the wall which stood just across from Thorin. He paced and stopped as he spotted you at the other end of the corridor.

“My king?” You greeted nervously. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” He grumbled, “I was only careless and knocked this over.”

“Nonsense, that was no accident,” You insisted as you neared, “Shouldn’t you be happy at your cousin’s arrival?”

“I am,” He lied, “I am happy.”

“You could have fooled me,” You replied, “Tell me what I’ve done.”

“What?” He reeled back, “You’ve not done anything.”

“Than why is it you can only frown at me since this afternoon. What caused you to give me such a sour look and storm off like a child denied a biscuit?”

“It’s not…you,” He sighed. He pushed back his hair and you realized his crown was gone. You spotted it neared the ruins of the vase and guessed he had thrown that first.

“Oh, so what has made you rampage so?” You gestured to the mess he had made.

“I…” He shrugged and crossed his arms. He uncrossed them as if correcting himself and bit his cheek. “I just…really, it’s nothing. Foolish. I should not be so angry. At least, I should only be mad at myself. It is not your worry if I am a coward.”

“Coward? Thorin, you are the bravest dwarf I have ever known,” You were perplexed by his self-deprecation.

His lips twitched and he looked at you directly. He considered you a moment, his eyes flicking to the pink satin monstrosity you wore and his face softened. “Dain was right, you are beautiful,” His voice was low, “I guess I’m mad at him for saying what I cannot.”

“Thorin?” You blinked.

“I didn’t think you’d actually wear the dress. I knew you would despise the colour but I thought, well, it looks well on you. It makes you glow.” You stared at him, unsure what to say. He gulped and looked past you before his eyes returned to yours. He stepped closer and reached for your hand, bringing it up to the lantern light. “I did forget one thing.”

With his free hand he reach into his jacket and pulled forth a small pouch. He pressed it into your palm and let go of you. You felt the small metal shape within and he looked down shyly. “I’ve been carrying that around for decades. I meant to give it to you back in Ered Luin but I was never brave or drunk enough to do so. Please, open it.”

You pursed your lips and slowly loosened the drawstring, pulling out the ring hidden within. The silver was finely twisted around an assiduously rounded amethyst. The breath was knocked from you as you looked up at Thorin.

“My biggest fear was always that my One would have another. Those novels where the hero finds that his love belongs to another were always the greatest tragedy to me. To me, it was worse than never seeing this mountain again. To think that I had found my One but she would never love me back. I suppose it’s what kept me quiet for so long.” He took the ring, steadying your hand and slipping it onto your finger, “But it is worse torture to hide and watch another take you, than to reveal myself and fail.”

“You think I’m your One?” You said, “And that Dain could ever take me from you?”

He looked at you desperately, pleadingly.

“Why, you must be the king of fools, Thorin Oakenshield. Of course, you’re my One. Who else could it be?” You twined your fingers through his and stepped closer, “Do you think I would wear such a hideous costume for any other?”

Thorin’s lips parted in surprise and you pressed yours against them, standing on your toes just to reach. Slowly, he woke from his shock and kissed you back, his hand reticently settling on your hip before trailing up to your waist. He pulled you closer as your veins flowed with fire and you melted into him. It was truly better than any novel you had ever read. This king was real.


End file.
